


Doughnuts and Contemplation

by thesassywallflower



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And A Touch Of Celtic and Norse As Well, Canon Divergence, Donna Has A Secret Superpower, F/M, Mutual Pining, playing fast and loose with Greek mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-06-05 11:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15170258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesassywallflower/pseuds/thesassywallflower
Summary: Dean and Donna reflect on their past interactions together. Then one day, they both get called in to work together on a case involving a god who lures teens into a life of slavery. Only this case draws them together in ways they never dared to dream would happen. This case also forces Donna to reveal a secret that she thought she would take to her grave.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back with a brand new story?! That's right! It's ya girl, Sassy! As promised, this time it's a Dean x Donna fic. You guys, I'm such a sucker for this crack!ship. Also a thousand cookies to anyone who gets the fandom I'm tipping my hat to in the title. ;) Hope y'all like this one!

Donna eased her truck into her parking spot outside the sheriff office, mouth quirking like always at the _“Norwegian Sheriff Parking Only”_ sign one of her brothers had put up for her a couple years ago. The half smile quickly faded at the thought of going back to work. What was supposed to be an invigorating spa weekend to take her mind off the one year anniversary of her divorce had been completely flipped on its head. Instead of a weekend of aromatherapy, aligning her chakras (whatever those were), and meditation, she’d witnessed dead bodies and crime scenes. If she’d wanted to see that, she could’ve just stayed home and worked all weekend. Losing those 10 pounds was the only good thing that had come from the weekend. She was just going to have to hold onto that win and use it to get through this week because rejuvenated was the last thing she’d felt right about now. 

Pulling open the plate glass doors of her beige industrial office building, her nostrils were immediately assaulted by the familiar scents of vomit and bleach wafting over from the drunk tank. _Uff dah._ Funny how it only took a few days away to regain your sensitivity to certain smells. 

“Hey ya, sheriff! Welcome back!”

“Hey ya…” she absently waved to Crystal, one of the dispatch girls, as she beelined it towards the gleaming industrial coffee pot. Terrible as the station coffee might be, sometimes you needed all the caffeine you could get. Her one cup of French press this morning at home definitely wasn’t going to cut it today.

“There’s a box on your desk. It was delivered first thing this morning! I wonder if you have a secret admirer?” Seriously? Why was Crystal still talking? Couldn’t she tell when someone was in desperate need of caffeine?? 

_“Oh, now just stop it, grumpy Gus,”_ she mentally chided herself. _“You get yourself out of this funk right now.”_

“Thanks, Crystal. I’ll take a gander at it right after I pour myself a cup of coffee.”

“Okay! I made that coffee extra strong for you. Just how you like it.” 

Donna almost started crying right there in front of everyone in the station out of sheer frustration. Crystal’s idea of strong coffee came from the Lutheran church lady school of thought. Which was, coffee should never be darker than gas station iced tea, hot enough to melt styrofoam, and only the tiniest drop of cream was all it took to turn it from coffee to coffee flavored milk. She _knew_ she should’ve brought the rest of her Sumatran Dark Roast with her to work. Why, oh why did she have to oversleep this morning of all mornings?

Inwardly cursing her short-sightedness and clasping a mug of watery coffee, she trudged into her office and gently shut the door behind her, savoring the moment of temporary silence before the inevitable barrage of phone calls and reports to approve would come barreling at her within minutes.

Just as Crystal had said, there was a box resting on her faux wood desk. And not just any box, it was a pink bakery box. She walked to her desk and peered down at it. Taped to the box was note scrawled in bold capital letters on _St. Croix Inn_ stationery.

_Sheriff,_  
Don’t let the Dougs of the world ever tell you that you’re not worth it. Screw them. You look good just the way you are.  
\- Agent Criss 

Paperclipped to the note was an FBI business card with Agent Criss’ phone number. Donna’s tummy dipped, and her cheeks heated at the memory of the good looking agent. She re-read the note a second time, this time imaging Agent Criss’ deep voice reading it to her.

Sitting down in her chair and opening the box, she found a dozen assorted doughnuts. Well, well, well, these weren’t just any supermarket day olds. No sir, these were straight from _Hannah’s Homemade Heaven_. Ooohh, and he’d even sprung for a couple of danishes. Lovely man. Lovely, lovely man in more ways than one... This note was just the sweetest thing ever, and then there where those green eyes and that smile and-and that ass-

 _For the love of Great Aunt Girdy! Stop it, you goon. You’re never going to see him again so don’t go getting yourself a crush._

No sense getting all googly eyed over someone who was way out of her league even if they did send her doughnuts. Honestly, after she’d blown their cover, she’d thought for sure it would be the cold shoulder from Agents Criss and Frehley from here on out, but the pink box and that business card said differently. Those two...what a couple of swell guys. The few FBI agents she’d met in the past were all stiff suits and turned up noses at the local law enforcement. Not these agents though. They were different... Sure they had the suits, but there was something peculiar about them. Something raw yet lethal. But at the same time, they seemed to truly care about their cases. It wasn’t just a means to a paycheck for them.

She mulled over her interactions with them as she reached into the box and pulled out a particularly plump bismark, the chocolate frosting dripping over the side of the pastry. Something was still nagging her about yesterday’s events. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, though. The agents had told her that the spa director’s brother had gone off the deep end and murdered all those people. On the surface, it all added up, but underneath... she had the needling suspicion there was more to the case. Without a doubt Alonso was guilty, but the motive seemed off. Even though she’d only seen him at mealtimes, he hadn’t seemed like the type to springboard off into the deep end without warning. There had to be more to it.

And then there was that moment when she’d locked eyes with the director, Maritza, as they were wheeling her out of the spa. For a split second, it was almost like her human face had melted away, and it was replaced with something else entirely. Something nightmarish. Something decidedly not human. But then she’d blinked, and Maritza was her gorgeous self once again. 

Now a normal person would attribute that to the body’s natural response to being in a high stress situation. Your brain was bound to do some weird things when it was under that kind of pressure. Perfectly understandable. But not her because...because she wasn’t normal. Donna Hanscum, small town sheriff, had big problem. A secret that she could never reveal to anyone. 

She’d never told another living soul besides her dad and nana about her problem. Since she was old enough to remember, she’d been seeing things that weren’t supposed to be there. Tiny naked women flitting around the tulips in their front yard flower beds. Long, jagged teeth on their old mailman. Black eyes on the kid bagging the groceries at the supermarket. Her dead mother sitting in the window seat of her childhood bedroom... 

Right around the time she started the third grade, she realized that these were probably not things a nine year old was supposed to see. So she’d revealed her secret to the two most important adults in her life, and she got two entirely different responses. Her dad, ever the practical one, told her to get her head out of the clouds and keep her stick on the ice, eh? Her nana, however, said that she had a touch of the Sight just like all the women in their family. And not the psychic kind of Sight. Oh no, nothing as simple as that. They were what the Celts would’ve called Sidhe Seers, the ones who could see the fair folk, the demons, and spirits. Only they were Norwegian, not Celtic so nana said they were Fe Vǫlva. As soon as Nana told her that, Donna remembered feeling fear and dread wash over her. Everyone always said that her nana was a little bit crazy. Even her dad would hint at it sometimes. If Nana was crazy, and Nana saw the same things she did, then that meant she was crazy too. And a crazy daughter was the last thing her grieving father needed. Nana would occasionally prompt her about it, but she would simply lie and say she didn't see those things anymore. Everything was back to normal for her now. She’d loved Nana more than anything, but she didn’t want people to look at her with more pity than they already did. Motherless _and_ crazy was not a good combination for a nine year old. Especially for one who was as desperate to fit in and not make any waves as she had been. 

So she’d kept quiet about it ever since. Never brought it up again to Nana or Dad. She’d done her best to ignore every oddity that popped up in her line of vision ever since. Partly because of her fear of being crazy and partly because of the only piece of advice Nana had given her about having the Sight. Never ever under any condition let any of those creatures know you could see them. There was sure to be nothing but trouble for her and her loved ones if they did find out she could see them. Why? Nana never told her, but the way that she issued her warning took away any of the doubts of how serious her command was.

Now, it was even more important that Donna keep her mouth shut about her hallucinations. If anyone in real life found out that their sheriff saw little green men, it would be the end of her entire career, and she worked too damn hard to let that happen. So she would stay quiet about what she saw yesterday at the spa just like she had ignored every other fairy tale creature she’d seen her entire life.

Taking a big bite out of the bismark, she carefully tucked Agent Criss’ card into her Rolodex. Then gathering up the tattered shreds of her fortitude, she opened her laptop and began scrolling through all the emails that had come in over the weekend, forcing her thoughts away from attractive FBI agents and spa directors with banshee faces.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay. Apologies for the lengthy delay on getting this chapter out. I'm realizing now that when you don't have a story almost entirely mapped out in your head six months before you even start writing it, it takes a lot longer to work out how you want a chapter to go. Hopefully, I'll get better at this. Please just cross all your fingers, toes and various appendages for ya girl, dear readers. Anywho, I think we'll have at least one other "flashback" chapter before we get to present day Dean and Donna. Just a little ol' heads up for y'all. 
> 
> Also welcome to all my new readers! I know Dean and Donna isn't a widely shipped pairing so I appreciate each and every one of you who are reading you. Hugs and cookies to you all!

“ _YOU CAN SEE THEM TOO?!_ ” The words ricocheted out of her mouth before she could stop them. Jody arched an eyebrow at her. “Sorry. Go on,” Donna mumbled. She forced herself to be still and silent, but inside she felt like dancing with relief. Sweet, blessed relief as Jody matter of factly informed her that vampires and all the other things that went bump in the night, things that she’d been seeing her whole life, were honest to gosh real.

Less than 15 minutes ago she’d royally screwed up and blurted out to Jody that she’d witnessed Sheriff Cuse kneeling over an obviously dead body and sporting fang-like teeth. Teeth that could only be described as something that should be on an animal not on a human. She’d been so freaked out at the sight of an old friend taking on the face of one of her hallucinations that she’d slipped up for the first time in 25 years. Though how she'd never seen him take on that mask before was a mystery... But back to Jody. Instead of looking at her like she was mad as a box of loon chicks though, Jody simply sat there, absorbing her outlandish story like it was an ordinary case. Even when she’d asked Jody if she was crazy, Jody simply said, “Let’s take a look in ol’ Len’s room.” Good lord, the woman didn’t even bat an eye! No wonder everyone in the Midwest always talked about what a good sheriff Jody Mills was.

And _now_! Now Jody, who seemed like a perfectly coherent and sane person, was telling her what she’d been dying to hear for ages. That she wasn’t crazy. The urge to dance had passed and now Donna felt almost faint with relief. But no actual fainting though. Nuh uh, not in front of the hot FBI agents. Especially not in front of Agent Criss. Lordy...she’d never in her wildest dreams thought that she’d see him-er-them again...well, maybe in her wildest dreams. Oh, all right, she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about calling him and asking for a little advice on a case every once and a while, but she’d refrained. No sense in bothering a big time FBI guy with her small town woes. 

Criminy. When she’d spied him in the hotel lobby, her stomach dropped straight to her toes. That’s when she realized that possibly, just possibly, she might be harboring a slight crush. It was nothing though. It would die out like all crushes did. They burned hot for a day or two, or a year, and then fizzled out like a can of opened soda pop. After allowing herself a split second to ogle Agent Criss, she plastered on her brightest smile and bounced over to them

But back to the present… Oh crap. What did Jody-o just say? And where did Agent Criss and Frehly - er Sam and Dean - or whatever their names go?

“Donna! Snap to! If you want to learn what real hunting is, we’ve gotta chase down those boys,” Jody barked, and they both took off at a jog after two sets of long legs.

***

Taking in the bar’s fake Swiss chalet decor (complete with low ceilings with hickory brown exposed beams and moth eaten deer head mounts), Dean leaned an elbow on the fingerprint smeared bar. Back in the days when smoking inside was still kosher, the shabbiness would’ve been masked by an undulating cloud of cigarette smoke, but now, the smoke free air made it look sad and hopelessly out of date. He swirled his whiskey in the glass tumbler before taking a bracing sip of what the hotel bartender claimed was top shelf stuff, but he was pretty sure had been poured straight out of a plastic gallon jug. Once upon a time, he wouldn’t have known the differences between the good stuff and a gas station special, but after moving into the bunker, he’d done been educated. Say what you will about those stuck up nerds who’d lived there before them, at least they had good taste in hooch and left the bunker stocked with enough of it to keep even a semi-alcoholic like him well supplied for years to come.

He took another sip, wincing at the harsh gasoline like after burn. Normally after finishing a case they would’ve been back on the road by now. Even one they’d finished this late. But not tonight. Tonight the last thing he wanted was to face another stack of outdated case files, desperately paging through them in the hopes of finding even the smallest clue about how to get this thing off his arm. He also didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts. Even though they’d exorcised the demon he had been months ago, he still had the memories of that monster rolling around in his head. Still had that dark Voice whispering at him to give into the Mark. Let it take the wheel so he could go back to howling at the moon with zero inhibitions. That’s why it was better to stay away for another night. This way he could use the sound of Sam’s snoring in the bed next to him to at least partially drown out that seductive Voice crooning at him from his most pitch of black thoughts.

So pleading exhaustion, he told Sam they should stay the night and then head out at first light. Sam had peered at him like he wanted to say more, but instead shrugged and went up to the front desk to get them a room. He headed straight for the hotel bar in the hopes that if he got blitzed enough, he could mute even more of the Voice. 

He was only one drink in when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of someone sitting down at the bar a few stools down. Previously he’d been the only occupant at the bar. There were only about a dozen people in the whole establishment. The rest of his fellow patrons were all either cozied up in a booth or clustered around the pool table leaving the bar empty, which was just how he liked it. But not now. Turning his head slightly to get a better look at the intruder, he caught sight of a familiar blonde ponytail. 

Sheriff Donna Hanscum. He never thought he’d hear that perky voice or see that guileless grin ever again. But here she was, and what's more, tonight she’d gotten herself inducted into the hunter’s life. He couldn’t help feeling an odd sense of pride over how well she’d handled herself tonight. She’d taken down that hippie vamp bitch like a complete pro. 

It was kind of strange. He barely knew her, but honestly really liked her. Normally, her over the top cheeriness would have driven him bat shit crazy, but she was so genuinely nice that it didn’t bother him. In fact, it made him feel slightly better about this rotten world knowing that there were people like her in it.

As he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, he waited for her to start chattering at him, but she didn’t. Minutes ticked by. In fact, she didn't seem to realize he was sitting right next to her. That's when he noticed her acting rather peculiarly. She kept darting her eyes back and forth to the corner booth, all the while nervously shredding the cocktail napkin the bartender had placed in front of her. He craned his neck to see what she was looking at. Sitting in the booth was a couple. They looked perfectly normal. Maybe a little too touchy feely for public consumption, but definitely nothing obscene. Why was she acting so jumpy?

“Hey. You did real good tonight.”

Donna gasped and teetered on her stool at the sound of his voice, “Dean!” She hiccuped. “I didn’t see you there!”

“I can see that,” he wryly laughed as he moved a few stools down to sit next to her. “But seriously. You impressed Sam and me big time. Kept your cool and everything.”

“You didn’t think the Lion King quote was too much?” she said with a wry laugh of her own.

“Naw. I think it was just the right touch.” 

“Oh good. I sure felt anything but cool. Those-those- _creatures_ have to be the scariest things I’ve faced on or off the job to date.”

“Vamps are scary bastards, all right. They’re right up there with demons in my book.”

“I still can’t believe all those things are real, and I haven’t been-I mean-didn’t imagine it…” That odd little stumble gave him a slight check. That wasn’t a normal speech screw up. He opened his mouth to ask what she meant by it, but stopped himself as he watched her dart her eyes to the right of them once again. He’d save that question for later. They had more pressing matters at hand.

“Whatcha looking at?” he asked in a stage whisper, leaning close to her ear. As he did, he caught a hint of her fragrance. He almost reeled back at how good she smelled...like a freshly baked raspberry pie topped with vanilla ice cream. 

She whipped her head back around towards him, brown eyes wide with guilt and visibly gulped. “What..what do you mean? I-I’m not looking at anyone...anything.”

“C’mon, Donna. I know you don’t know me real good yet, but you can be straight with me. You’re as twitchy as a kid who stole his first Playboy. Plus, you’ve been glancing at that booth for the last 10 minutes straight. So. Who are you keeping an eye on?”

Donna dropped her head in defeat. “That’s my ex husband Doug in the booth. He’s with yet another new girl. I mean the sheriff who he was flirting with earlier at this retreat was one of the victims. She hasn’t even had a complete autopsy yet and he’s already making googly eyes at yet another Handcuffs chick. He’s a real you know what.”

“Tool? Dick? Asshole? Fuck boy?” Dean supplied helpfully.

“Yeah. All of those. I mean... I know I shouldn’t be jealous, and honestly, at this point I wouldn’t take him back even if he begged me. It’s just… I miss being smiled at like that. Like I’m the most important girl in the world. I can’t help but wonder if only I could’ve been a different- _better_ woman, I’d still have someone smiling at me.” She resumed picking at the napkin pieces after the words tumbled from her mouth in a quiet rush.

Dean felt a pang of pity for the woman next to him. Donna was good people, and she deserved to be treated as such. He placed his hand over hers on top of that pile of shredded paper. “Hey now, from what I can see you did nothing wrong. That asshole obviously didn’t know how good he had it. And now whether he knows it or not, he’s going to be trying and failing to replace the amazing thing that he threw away like a piece of fucking garbage for the rest of his life. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, Donna. You deserve a guy who will respect you and treat you like the prize you are.”

Her dimples deepened as a shy smile crept across her soft pink lips. Shit. Why did he suddenly find those dimples kind of cute? “Thanks, Dean. That’s awfully nice of you. Now, if only this badge and these hips didn’t scare off most guys,” she said ruefully.

A thought crossed his mind followed by a wicked grin that spread across his face. “How would you feel about giving ol’ Doug the Dick a taste of his own medicine? You know that he’s noticed you over here by now and he’s playing it up just for you. How about we do the same to him?”

Her jaw dropped, “Uh what?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We won’t go too far. Just give him a little taste of revenge.”

“Wha-what do you have in mind?”

“Just follow my lead.” He trailed a finger up and down her arm before pulling a pen out of his coat pocket and dropped it, intentionally giving it a spin so it would roll towards the booth Doug was occupying. He leapt off his stool to grab it. As he did, he made a little show of it, fumbling it closer to the couples feet, making sure they took notice of him. He bent to grab it, and as he stood up, he caught Doug’s eye, winked at the couple. “Shit, I can’t lose this now. That hot thing over there was just about to give me her room number. Tonight must be my lucky night!”

Doug’s nostrils flared with irritation as he mumbled, “Yeah. Lucky you.”

Dean was barely able to contain his grin at how easily he got under the prick’s skin. He turned back to Donna and leaned over her once again. Trying to hide her shock, she yanked the pen out of his hand and scribbled a number onto his palm, her hands not quite steady. Under his breath, he whispered, “You go first, and I’ll meet you out by the elevators.” Then he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and said loud enough for Doug to hear, “See you up there, sweet thing.” Then he took Donna’s clenched fist in his hand and playfully pried open her fingers. Turning over her hand, he placed an open mouthed kiss in the center of her palm. For a second, he thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head, but she recovered like a pro and crooned back at him, “I’ll be waiting, mister.” She finished it off by running a finger across his jaw and tossing him a sultry smile the likes of nothing he’d seen on her face before as she slid off her stool. Playfully wiggling her fingers at him, she turned on her heel, and with hips swaying, slinked out of the hotel bar.

Moving to follow Donna, he threw a last glance over his shoulder. There he found Doug the Dick glaring daggers at his back while the woman next to him tried and failed to snag his attention. Mission fucking accomplished.

As he walked toward the bank of elevators, he tried to ignore the trail of sparks that Donna’s finger left in its wake. _Shit. Shit. I don’t have time for this. She’s not your type, man. Just get a hold of yourself..._

But something almost miraculous had come out of his little encounter with Donna. For nearly 30 minutes, he’d spent it with someone he barely knew and somehow completely forgot the Mark branded into his skin and brain. That was a relief he hadn’t known in nearly a year and a half. Shards of gratitude towards the perky blonde sheriff pierced him. Maybe this was why they’d come to Minnesota. Maybe, possibly, whoever was upstairs decided to take half an ounce of pity on him and give him the gift of normalcy for a little bit. For that scrap of mercy, he was thankful.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, no feeble excuses for how long it took me to get this chapter up. It was pure honest to goodness laziness. So all I can do is beg your forgiveness and promise to try to do better with the next chapter. Still not entirely happy with how it flows, but I had to give you something before pitchforks started flying my way. Also this chapter has not been beta-ed so I take full responsibility for any and all errors.

“Ugh. Pretty sure you’re gonna need to soak for a few days, my friend.” Donna stood in her laundry room clad only in her sports bra and granny panties, a blood-soaked shirt dangling from her fingers. She reached for the industrial sized bottle of hydrogen peroxide and small bucket that were now a permanent fixture in her cleaning supplies cabinet. She threw the shirt into the bucket and drenched it with peroxide, the glug glug of the clear liquid making her shake her head at how much of this stuff she’d gone through in the last few months.

Six months and nearly twenty vampire kills later, she’d acquired quite a knack for figuring out the best way to get vamp blood out of clothing. A long soak in a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and cold water did the trick most of the time, followed by a bleach wash, but only if you got to it while the blood was still fresh. If it dried even the teensiest bit then the only thing that article of clothing was good for was the garbage can. She swirled the shirt around with a sigh. The amount of blood involved in a decapitation still shocked her at times, but even more shocking was the fact that her laundry had almost doubled... 

But for all the gore and hassle, there was something clean about taking out a vampire. There were no doubts that this was a bad thing that must be taken care of. There were no questions or what if’s or maybe’s. No grey areas. Compared to dealing with humans and all their variables, that kind of absolute was almost a relief. But it wasn't allowed to be a complete relief because she couldn’t shake her nightmares of being held captive. She still dreamed about being tied up in that barn with those monstrous faces taunting her. Never had she been surrounded by that many hellish masks all at one time. Usually, she would only see one, maybe two in a crowd, but never seven at once. Now like clockwork, every single one of them liked to pay her a visit every other night.

Thinking back to the night that changed her life forever, she remembered that her three companions hadn’t seemed as bothered by those faces nearly as much as they were about being tied up. Their calm was what kept her from being paralyzed with fear. Knowing that she wasn’t alone in her delusion gave her the courage to saw through the rope around her wrists and take out that monster. 

She still had a scar from where the lens shard had sliced into her palm. It had all been worth it though just to feel that rush of savage justice pouring through her system as she sliced through the neck of that grinning hippie vampire. She’d never much cared for patchouli, but now just the slightest hint of it was enough to make her nauseous. 

Donna wrinkled her nose at the memory of the scent alone. She glanced over at the still bloody machete leaning against the pale steel blue wall and gave it a fond smile. Nearly six months had passed since Dean first pressed it into her hand. Such a blatantly violent weapon should’ve felt awkward and unwieldy to her, but it didn’t. The weight of it felt oddly... _right._ Like this blade had been specifically made for her. That morning while they were saying their goodbyes in Hibbing, she’d tried to give it back to Dean, but he refused to take it. Said to consider it a gift. A present to remember them by. She, of course, didn’t need a memento to keep from forgetting him. His face was one she would never forget, but it was still a sweet gesture. After handing the blade back to her, he patted her on the shoulder. She’d desperately wanted to give him a hug, but for once she’d restrained herself. He didn’t really seem like the overly affection type. She did have an inkling that he could sense she was dying to hug him because the corners of his eye crinkled, and an honest to gosh twinkle sparkled in his eyes. He then told her to call them up any time she needed them...anytime at all. And then that was it. The last time she'd seen him.

“I wish-I wish I could call him again…” she breathed, but quickly chastised herself, “He’s an important man. You can’t go inventing up excuses just so you make googly eyes at him when he’s not looking. Now get in the shower because you stink to high heaven. And stop talking to yourself! You sound like a crazy person.”

Exiting the tiny laundry room that was right off the kitchen, she hurried half-dressed through her house to the master bathroom where she started the shower. Under a stream of water a few degrees shy of boiling, she let the blast of the twin shower heads rinse the blood and grime off her body. Then squirting a healthy amount of raspberry and orange blossom body wash on a loofa, she soaped up every inch of her skin, letting the bubbles soothe away the adrenaline rush of this evening’s kill still echoing in her veins. When her fingers finally turned to prunes, she reluctantly shut off the water. Drying off, Donna reached for her favorite vanilla caramel lotion. Honestly, she probably smelled like a bakery case, but the cozy smells always comforted her after longs days of dealing with drunks and wife beaters. 

After smoothing the lotion over her whole body, she reached for the lacy pile on the counter, pulling on the whisper-soft blush pink panties and matching nearly sheer bra, a rosette of embroidered amethyst violets concealing each nipple. Rather shocking undergarments for a small town sheriff, but being raised by a single father alongside four brothers had left her with a lingering desire for all things soft and pretty. Her ever practical father figured that if Carhartt jeans withstood the abuse his sons threw at them, then they would work just fine for his daughter too. No sense in shopping at different stores. That would just be an unnecessary waste of time, and time was a precious commodity when you had to pull double shifts five days a week at the local sawmill. So the majority of their clothes ended up being bought at the local feed store. Had she occasionally wished her dad would’ve taken her to the mall to buy her a pair of Guess jeans? Of course. Or maybe let her order a colorful top from the Dahlia catalogs her friends would pass on to her? Sure, but she never told her dad. He tried his best and that’s all she could ask of him. Even to this day, part of her everyday wardrobe was still made up of Carhartt work pants and Duluth Trading Company shirts. But now there were things carefully tucked away with in her top dresser drawer, silk and satin things, so far removed from her feed store apparel that it would've shocked her poor dad.

After she became first a police officer and then a sheriff, she felt what little femininity that she possessed slowly but surely be smothered by the shapeless polyester uniform and spartan underwear. So in retaliation, she started treating herself to lingerie, the lacier the better. Nothing too racy and certainly nothing crotch-less or belonged alongside a whip and riding crop. Just pretty things. Things that she could put on after a hard day and not be reminded of her job...and if she was honest, for a while they’d also been a desperate attempt to keep her husband’s attention That feeble effort had obviously failed miserably, but even after her marriage went boots up, the lingerie still provided her with comfort.

Of course she only wore this stuff at home, never out on the job. Lord knew that while chasing a perp, it was absolutely necessary for all the hatches to be battened down, and a g-string flossing your backside was the last thing you needed. But as soon as she was home from a shift, she showered and slipped into her pretties and then covered it all up with her yoga pants and baggy sweatshirts. Even though she couldn’t see the satin and lace, it soothed her just knowing they were there. They reminded her that she could still be soft on the inside when all life wanted to do was harden her. Reminded her that there was still prettiness to be found out there. And now that her hallucinations were real, and she was honor bound to fight them, this ritual had changed from a hidden luxury to a hidden necessity to keep her sanity.

As Donna was pulling her old police academy hoodie over her head an unbidden thought tiptoed into her brain _“I wonder what Dean would think if he saw me dressed like this? Would he like it? Or would it turn him off?”_ She rolled her eyes at her own asinine thought. _“Oh no. Don’t you go there. Not tonight. Pining for the impossible is saved for Sangria Saturdays, remember?”_

Shoving that stupid thought aside, she reached into the closet for a pair of burgundy stilettos with toes so sharp they could double as a weapon. Here was her second favorite nightly coping mechanism, high heels. After she kicked Doug out, though he loved to tell people he was the one who left, she felt like such a failure as a wife and woman in general that even her pretty bras and panties weren’t enough to make her feel feminine. In the end, Doug mocked her for even wearing them. Said fatties shouldn’t even try. So the shoes were another tool to remind herself that while the rest of her body may turn men off, she had a great pair of legs and could rock a heel with the best of them. 

Ritual complete she made her way to the kitchen, where crisp white walls were warmed by the exposed hickory brown beams. Heating up a Lean Cuisine and grabbing a beer, she settled into her couch and queued up The Golden Girls. She spent the rest of the evening curled up on the couch and let Sophia’s stories of Sicily and Dorothy’s snarky one-liners drive away the ugliness of a few hours ago. 

Gradually her eyelids began to droop and the next thing she knew, her phone was shrieking up at her from her lap. Blearily she peered at the display. _5:07 am._ Crap on a cracker! She’d fallen asleep on the couch again. Wincing at the kink in her neck, she answered, “Sheriff Hanscum here.”

Her deputy, Doug ‘How’s That For Irony’ Stover responded, his voice strained with urgency, “Sorry for the early wake-up call, but uh, Sheriff? We got us a weird one. Some guy in a bunny suit killed a man. We got ‘em surrounded, but he’s refusing to take off the rabbit head. I think we’re gonna need you to come in to negotiate.”

Bunny suit?! Well, that was one for the ol’ Journal of Weird Cases. “Alright Doug, I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

“Thanks, Sheriff, we’re at the corner of North and Williams.”

“Got it. Be there in a flash.” She crawled off the couch and nearly broke her ankle as she teetered for balance on her stilettos. _Note to self: High heels not conducive to half asleep shuffling. Take shoes off before falling asleep._ Stumbling into her bedroom she threw on her uniform, for once forgetting to change out of her lingerie and into her work underwear. Shoving her feet into her steel toe boots and then dumping day old coffee into her travel mug and grabbing a protein bar, she sprinted out the door, memories of dreams of Dean and a preening Blanche Devereaux dancing the polka at the local beer hall following her out to her truck.

As she jumped into her truck, intuition needled at her. Something already seemed off with this case and the only info she had about it was a call from her deputy. Bunny suits weren’t exactly normal homicidal killer apparel. Could this be... a Winchester type case? A delicious shiver of anticipation skittered down her spine and settled in her stomach. A girl could only hope.

***

Dean’s eyebrows just about shot off his forehead. That had to be the sexiest thing he’d ever seen on a sheriff. He truly hadn’t meant to look down her shirt. Seriously. It’d happened completely by accident. It had all started when Donna dropped a handful of files onto the floor, and they both squatted down to pick them up, but as she leaned over her neckline gaped open. He glanced down towards what he thought would be the floor, but instead what he saw was most definitely not the floor. Normally he just would've glimpsed a bit of bare upper chest and her mandatory Kevlar vest, but it obviously wasn’t fastened tightly enough because he what he saw instead was the most incredible view of a pair of soft breasts covered by a pinky peach bra with pretty little purple flowers all over it. He dropped his eyes to the files on the floor, but it was too late. The luscious image was already seared into his brain. Donna caught his eye, and he noticed her cheeks were slightly pink. Shit. She'd caught him looking. He was sure of it. He scrambled to his feet and thrust the files he was clenching at her, the edges slightly rumbled from his suddenly too tight grip. “So you got some son of a bitch with a bunny head stuck on his melon in holding?”

_Real smooth, bastard. Real fucking smooth. Oh this case is starting out just fantastic, and you have no one to blame but yourself._

***

“All right. Bring it in.”

With a squeal, Donna launched herself at him. He chuckled under his breath. Sometimes this woman reminded him of a golden retriever puppy, all happy smiles and bouncing energy. Wrapping her arms around her, he closed his eyes and for a moment let himself soak in all that glowing, effervescent energy. Slowly he became aware of how good she felt against him. Donna was soft with full hips that he suddenly had the insane urge to grasp just so he could pull her tighter against his frame. But for all her softness, there was also something so solid about her. When Donna held someone there was no doubt she could support them. 

With a wish he banished almost instantly, he longed to bury his face into that blonde ponytail and stay like this for the rest of the day. He forced himself to let go of her before he did something stupid. But as he pulled away he realized something. For a few brief seconds there, he’d forgotten all about Amara and her seductive pull sucking at his very being. For a few seconds, he’d been wrapped in the warm arms of someone who wasn’t asking anything of him. They weren’t taking. They were simply giving support and warmth to his worn out soul.

He looked down at her and caught the briefest glimmer of longing in her warm chocolate eyes. His breath caught in his chest. Did she feel- but she blinked and whatever deeper emotion had been there was replaced with her usual friendly sparkle. But it was too late. The damage was done. A fluttery feeling completely different than his dark attraction to Amara settled in his stomach. Fuck. He didn’t need this. Didn’t need a crush on top of everything else going on in his brain. Didn’t need another complication. Didn’t need to feel the addictive whisper of what if’s and maybes. Donna was light and-and joy and a life of forevers, while he was soul crippling darkness, endless battles and one night stands. 

Hurriedly he said his goodbyes to Donna and her deputy and practically sprinted out the door. Sam was right on his heels, and he could already feel his little brother’s confused look boring into the back of his head. He didn’t dare say anything because he was too afraid that he would confess to Sam the terrifying truth of his feelings. And that truth was while Donna sure as hell didn’t need him, he was beginning to fear he might need her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, it's your delinquent writer FINALLY back with a new chapter *insert all the face palms* Hope you guys enjoy it and forgive me for me total lack of timely posting.

_Why in the hell am I here?_

Of all the places on this god-forsaken planet, why was he parked across the street from Donna Hanscum’s new house, which happened to be a picture perfect English cottage of all things? _Was that really a thatched roof?_ Honestly, there wasn’t a rational answer as to why he was here. All he knew was he couldn’t sit in that bunker a single second longer. 

Two weeks ago everything had gone to shit like it always did. Mom was dead...again. Lucifer killed her. Just hours before it'd happened, he’d began to hope that maybe, just maybe, they could work things out as a family. Then just like that, he was cradling his dead mother in his arms. He’d tried consoling himself that at least this time he'd gotten a chance to say goodbye, but that didn’t keep his insides from feeling like they’d frozen over. Like one touch would be all it took to shatter him into a million pieces. It didn’t stop him from seeing the light flicker from her eyes, as her broken body crumbled to the ground under the rift every damn time he closed his eyes.

At least Crowley had managed to kill Lucifer before the gates to Bizarro World slammed shut, but that was their only win. Cas was alive but just barely. And now there was Jack. Jack. The son of their worst enemy was now their bunk mate. Logically he knew that everything that happened wasn’t the kid’s fault, but that didn’t stop the hate from rising in his throat like bile every time he saw that eager face.

If it hadn’t been for the kid’s fucker of a father, Mom would still be here... 

Cas wouldn’t be sitting at death’s door... 

Hell, they’d still have Crowley and Rowena around, even if they did win the mother/son combo prize for world’s biggest pains in the ass. 

Instead, what they had was a possibly broken beyond repair angel, a literal man baby with all the volatile power of a nuclear warhead, and two washed up, burned out hunters. 

_If that kid hadn’t been born none of this would’ve happened. If Kelli would’ve just gotten rid-_ Dean punched the headliner with a strangled howl of rage. He felt sick every damn time he looked at Jack. That’s why he bolted. Because if he didn’t leave, he would’ve done something that would ruin any chance they had at figuring out how to fix their current situation. 

So he left. Sam, who was in a better head space than he was, could handle the kid for a few days. He just needed to clear his head so he could get back in the game. He needed to be somewhere that didn’t remind him of Mom. Only, he couldn’t go to Jody because she had her hands full with the girls and didn’t need an unstable hunter getting in her way. So Donna was the only other option. If her endless supply of cheer couldn’t help him, then he really was a goner. 

Dean sighed. He really shouldn’t be here. What sane person would show up on their friend’s doorstep unannounced half out of their mind with grief? He couldn’t help it though, and if he was being honest, he was in desperate need for one of her hugs. He hadn’t seen her for almost a year. Occasionally she’d send him a funny meme which would turn into a gif war between them to see who could stump the other with the best reaction gif. She’d called a couple times to get advice on a case, but nothing that warranted him making the trip to Minnesota. There was a twisted part of him that had been half hoping she’d ask him to come, but she didn’t. She just chirped her thanks and hung up. There was nothing more than that. He should be relieved she had everything under control, and she was safe. That was a massive win in their world. But instead he was left with a niggling sense of disappointment. He kind of...sort of... He grunted at his own stupidity. It was just, besides the need to escape, for some reason he simply wanted to see her again... Doug the Deputy had probably finally gathered up the balls to make a move so why was he feeling those old junior high roller coaster emotions where you didn’t know whether to give a girl a carnation or beat her at dodge ball? His feelings for Donna were so mixed up. Part of the problem was he simply hadn’t had time to sort through these strange emotions that had thrust themselves uninvited upon him the last few times he’d been around her. He’d had bigger fish to fry like trying to prevent the spawn of Satan from being born. So instead of fading away like they normally should’ve, they were still as fresh and confusing as they had been a year ago. 

He picked at a bit of cracked vinyl on the steering wheel. Okay, fine. He found Donna attractive. There he admitted it. She wasn’t the type of woman he usually went for, but there was just something about her. But what did he want to do with this information? For that matter, what could he do with it? He’d caught the quick, shy looks of interest from her. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, but she wasn’t the one night stand type. She’d been hurt by at least one man in her life, and she didn’t need to add another one to the list. 

The blinding flare of headlights distracted him from his thoughts, and a pewter grey truck pulled into Donna’s driveway. Shit. She was home already, and he hadn’t even thought of a decent enough excuse as to why he was sitting outside her house. The lights blinked off, and he watched Donna slide out of the cab of the truck, the interior dome lights momentarily setting her blonde hair ablaze while throwing her curves into silhouette.

He hesitantly opened Baby’s door, the creak of the hinge echoing across the quiet street. Even from that distance, he saw Donna’s head shoot up and her shoulders tense at the sound, her entire body alert and ready to spring into action if need be.

“Dean? Is that you?” she called out, straining to see in the darkness.

“Hey, D-Train.” 

At the sound of his voice, her shoulders relaxed for a moment before immediately tensing up again. “What...what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home? Wait. Is Sam okay?”

“No-um...Sam’s fine...well, as fine as can be expected…” he trailed off, the little boy in him not yet ready to admit out loud that he and Sammy were orphans once again.

In an instant Donna was across the street. The next thing he knew, he was in her arms, breathing in her strawberry scented hair, and letting himself rest against her soft body. He pressed his cheek onto the top of her head and closed his eyes. For the first time in nearly two weeks the image of his dead mother not floating behind his eyelids.

“I know. I know,” she crooned, her breath warming his flannel covered shoulder. “It’s okay. I heard about your mama.”

Unbidden tears pricked his eyes, and he sagged in relief as she took away the burden of explanation. He tucked her tighter against him and simply breathed, his heartache easing for the first time in days. The simple action of breathing without feeling like air was sawing at his lungs was a luxury. Long moments passed as they stood in the middle of her street and early summer crickets chirped around them.

Abruptly, another pair of oncoming headlights broke up their reverie. A late model Ford Taurus pulled in to the drive across from Donna’s, and a bald head poked out from the open window, “Alright there, Sheriff?”

“Fine, Vern. Just fine. My friend here just dropped in for a surprise visit. Haven’t seen him in a year!” Donna dropped her arms and scooted away from him. The loss of her arms around him made him want to growl in frustration.

“Alrighty then…” Vern said, curiosity dripping from his words. ‘Well, have a nice visit then, okay?” 

“Will do,” she said soothingly. “You and Lillian have a good night, ya hear?”

 _“You ruined my hug, you nosey fuckwad. Now get your ass back inside, Vern.”_ He wanted to snarl, but instead bared his teeth at the neighbor in a mockery of a smile. “Have a nice night.”

Without waiting for Vern’s response, Donna grasped his elbow and steered him towards her house, “C’mon inside. I’ll fix us some supper. You hungry?” 

“Always.” Trying to distract them both from the intense moment they’d just shared, he murmured, “So, I gotta ask. Do you happen to be Snow White? Is the whole sheriff gig just a front?”

Donna burst out laughing, “So you like my new house, huh?”

“It’s-uh-cute, but definitely different from your old one.”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret. You see, growing up I always wanted to live in a fairy tale cottage. Like Snow White’s, or the one where Aurora from Sleeping Beauty grew up. If it had a thatched roof, I wanted it. Instead, I was stuck living in a late 70’s split level with a severe lack of singing woodland creatures. I loved those cottages so much that my big brother Anders always promised that he would build one for me when we grew up.” Donna dug her keys out of her pocket and unlocked her door. “Last year Anders, who’s now a big shot contractor, finally made good on his promise. You should’ve heard my normally stoic Norwegian brother whine and complain and carry on about what a pain in the keister it was for him to get that thatched roof approved by the city zoning committee.” 

She stepped through the doorway, flipped on the entryway light and then scurried around turning on the lamps in the living room, while Dean ogled his surroundings. Just as you would expect in a cottage, it was a mostly open concept floor plan. The living, dining room and kitchen bled into each other, the only division between the rooms were two massive rough hewn lumber support beams framing the kitchen. Exposed beams of the same type of lumber lined the ceiling, and off the main room was a small hallway that Dean guessed must lead to the bedrooms and bathroom. Walnut floors flowed throughout the house and jewel toned rugs warmed the floors. An ecru couch and love seat separated the living space from the dining room, while photos and wall hangings and pillows in traditional Scandinavian patterns enlivened the walls and furniture. The very air in her house seemed to be specifically designed to comfort and calm the inhabitants. Just like one of the homeowner’s hugs…

“Don’t just stand there gawking, Dean. C’mon in and make yourself comfy.” 

He mumbled an apology and stepped into the entryway, closing the door behind him. He made a move to take off his boots not wanting to scuff up her floors when the toe of his boot caught on something, and he stumbled. Glancing down to see what he’d tripped over, he saw a black lace boot with a heel sharp enough to gouge out an eyeball. His eyes widened. Definitely not what he would’ve expected to find by the shoe rack of a practical officer of the law. Donna scurried over, her cheeks curiously flaming red, “Oh sugar cubes, let me get those out of here! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big de-” but she was already halfway out of the room, shoes clasped to her chest, and ponytail bouncing in time to her hurried steps. He unlaced his boot, toed them off, and then wandered into the living room to look at the photos. The first one was of Donna, Jody, Alex and Claire on the shore of a lake showing off a recent catch. He grinned. Never had a single picture captured four people’s personalities so perfectly. Donna had a huge opened mouth grin as she thrust her fish over her head. Jody was giving the lens a long suffering smile as she half- heartedly held up her fish. Alex smiled softly, her fish strung from a branch so she didn’t have to touch it, and Claire mugged for the camera, tongue out as she pretended to strangle her fish.

Moving onto the next photo with a chuckle, it showed Donna enveloped in a massive bear hug by four blonde giants. All five of them shared the same brown eyes and dimpled grins. _Huh._ With brothers that size, it’s no wonder she’d never seemed intimidated by Sam and him. On the end table by the couch was a slightly faded photo of a couple in an antique silver frame. The man looked like he could’ve been a linebacker for the Vikings. He had Donna’s blonde hair and chin, only he had piercing ice blue eyes instead of brown. His arm was curled protectively around a petite red haired woman with gentle brown eyes and a dimpled smile. So that’s where those eyes and dimples came from. He was just moving on to a picture of Donna hugging a girl he didn’t recognize when she came back into the room.

“Okay now that that’s taken care of, how about some dinner? I have some leftover stew and biscuits that I was going to heat up. Would that be okay with you?” she asked as she pulled a Tupperware container out of the fridge

“Perfect.” In all honesty, he didn’t have much of an appetite. Hadn’t had one since before Mom was killed, but he wasn’t going to pass up the chance to share a normal meal with Donna. He found himself almost anxious to watch her interact in her day to day surroundings. Desperate to see how a halfway normal person functioned.

Donna puttered around the kitchen, pouring the stew into a pan and turning on the oven to heat the biscuits. Feeling at a loss at what else to do, Dean began opening cupboards and drawers to find dishes and silverware to set the table. She eyed him out the corner of her eye, “I do love a man who makes himself at home in the kitchen-OH.” She immediately began to sputter, blushing furiously, “I mean not that I love- That’s not- What I meant- Oh great flying goose farts.”

He began to laugh, the sensation feeling almost foreign. _When was the last time I really laughed?_ “I knew what you meant. It’s fine. I’m not going to start feeling her up just because a lady appreciates my table setting skills.” _Even though I don’t know if I’d be able to pass up the chance if you offered..._

Still blushing, she chuckled, “Phew! Thanks for understanding my idiotic rambling. You’re one of the few!”

Awkwardness over, together they laid out dinner on the table. The hearty scent of the beef stew surprisingly made Dean’s mouth water. Maybe he actually was hungry. 

The earlier intensity and awkwardness faded, and they sat down to the meal, falling into comfortable conversation. After dinner, much to his delight, Donna pulled a couple pieces of strawberry rhubarb pie from a local bakery out of the fridge. Over dessert they began swapping work stories and the triumphs and misadventures found in their professions, but all the while carefully avoiding the elephant in the room. Donna hadn’t once asked why he was here. The only nod to it was when she casually offered him the use of her couch. He could’ve kissed her out relief of not having to talk about why he’d shown up.

“And then Jody finished off the other siren-” Her sentence was interrupted by a jaw cracking yawn, “Oh jeez, I am so sorry. I had a super early start this morning, and yesterday I had a late night stakeout. I’m afraid I’m lacking on the old Z’s”

“No worries. Why don’t you get to bed? I can clean up. It’s the least I can do to return the favor of you letting me crash here.”

“I can’t let you do that!”

Dean waved her off with a grin and a wink, “You betcha, you can.”

Before she could retort another massive yawn split her face, and she slumped in mock defeat, “Fine. Since you decided to use my own language against me, and I’m way too tired to fight you, I’ll take you up on it. But since I’m off tomorrow, I’m making breakfast in the morning. No arguments, mister.” 

“Deal,” he said with a smile. As she walked past him, he reach out, grasped her wrist and gently squeezed it. “Thanks again. You saved me tonight. _Really._ ”

She pulled her wrist out of his grip, making his heart squeeze unbidden at the loss. She hesitated before shocking him by brushing her fingers against his cheek, leaving a trail of warmth on his skin as his body immediately responded, starving for touch. “Anytime, Dean. You’re always welcome here.”

She walked towards her room, but stopped in the hallway opening and turned back to him, her eyes turning the exact shade of his favorite whiskey in the lamplight, “And whenever you want to talk about it, I’m here. No pressure, no timeline. You’re going through way more than I ever have, but I-I do know what it’s like to lose a parent...two parents, in fact.” Her eyes grew misty with old sorrow, and she took a couple deep breaths before saying, “Anywho, make yourself comfy. You can stay as long as you want. No questions asked. Night, Dean.”

He watched her go, staring at the same spot long after she’d closed her bedroom door. _You’re a lucky bastard having someone like her in your life. Don’t you dare ruin it by giving into your dick._ Because all he could think right then about was following her into her bedroom and asking if he could share her bed. Give in to the gnawing need to be as physically close to another person as possible. To give into the temporary comfort of sex like he had so many times in the past. To succumb to that brief bliss that would leave them both screaming with pleasure. But. Where would that leave them afterwards? More than likely with a broken friendship and a even bigger gaping hole in his soul for hurting another person. He couldn’t risk it. Donna’s friendship meant more than one night of pleasure.

So instead of knocking on her door like he was dying to do, he scraped back his chair to distract himself from his thoughts and began to stack the plates and glasses on the table. Best be getting to work on these dishes like he promised her, and then start consoling himself with that cold empty couch.


End file.
